First word that comes to mind. Before her name. Before the multiple last names, given and taken. Before shared geography or family. Nicknames, street names, school mascots. Before she was considered wife, mother, grandmother, wife again, step mother. Before she was diminished to a cluster of words pointing to parts of her that were sick….


Up at my front door and tell me you can’t imagine spending this life without me. Show me your heart bare and ugly. Tell me all the pain can leave me now. Holding my heart, show my hands strength and my fingers hope. Show up at my house and hold me so hard that I…


  I love porches. They are architects of hope. Lifted. Waiting. Restful. Welcoming. I have owned porches with a partner in the past. Perfect porches littered with backpacks, bikes, skateboards, fairy dust. I rent now. Porches are mothers. Permanent. Shelter. Safely lighting the way home. Always. This morning I am sitting on mine. Alone. Coffee….


Somewhere. Out there. Is a son. He has her cells. He looks through her eyes, speaks through her mouth with words she taught him to say decades ago. Her cells go on a walk. Her cells play guitar through the fingers that once fit in the palm of her hand. Somewhere. In there. Is a…


This word has been chasing me. In and out of my mind, like a song you hear and can’t stop singing. No reason, really. I haven’t been studying anything related to it. Haven’t seen it written, nor heard it spoken. And yet, it has chased my consciousness down to this moment when finally tired of…